Song About You
by CaptainScorose
Summary: Songfic based on "Song About You," by Mike Posner. He should've gone straight to her, but instead he ran into someone else's arms. Now he's just biding his time, the memory of her stuck in his head like a song playing on a loop.


A/N: Because I can't include the lyrics of this song in the fic itself, you'll have to listen it (cry me a river, it's a good song) yourself. I've mainly broken up each part of the song by three or four lines, of either the verse or the chorus. That's why there are so many page-breaks. Sorry if that's confusing, but that's how this goes. Please review! Also, this will not be continued, it's a stand-alone. But definitely favorite! Ty, CaptainScorose:)

* * *

Song About You - Mike Posner

Carnation, and the heady rush of incense, or vanilla and musk, accentuated with cinnamon and cardamom? The grey eyes flickered over the array of candles in the spinning display, the low light of the hanging pendants casting a fluid shadow over the merchandise in Potage's Cauldron Shop.

It was nearly closing time, he observed, as the clerk's eyes roved over him, and not very subtly diverted to the door, upon which hung a "We're Closed!" sign. Placing further emphasis on this fact, his gaze once again shifted from Scorpius to a petite witch who now exited with her purchases, the tinkling bell above the entrance signaling her departure.

With a sigh, he turned back to the glass basin of candles, and examined the amber-colored wax of the latter option. It was sweet and warm, reminiscent of the tavern he had frequented earlier in the month, when his throat had burned with too many shots of firewhiskey, and all rational thinking had left him when _she_ had approached him. Shaking that thought from his mind, he turned to the first scent he found, and inhaled the heavy ardor of spice.

He put it down quickly, in realization that it was far stronger than he expected, and that it seemed to permeate and suffocate its victim in a manner of seconds. It made him feel drowsy, as though he were vulnerable to the crystal visions of the gypsies on Knockturn Alley, who lured him to their gauzy curtained-stalls, and professed they could See his future looming near. No, it would not do.

A pale pink vessel looked promising, but after wafting the candle, he realized that its notes of orange blossom and powdery jasmine were familiar - it was _her_ perfume.

At once, he put it down, and selected a teal candle, an airy sort of fragrance with hints of vetiver and cedarwood. Tiredly, he fished the Sickles from his pocket, purchased it, and Apparated home.

His flat was a few blocks away from the red call-box of the Ministry, a tall and sleek complex hidden in the parking lot of a Muggle supermarket. He simply needed to tap his wand against the yellow fire hydrant stuck on the sidewalk, and stroll past the cars in the lot, straight into thin air. Scorpius resurfaced in the lobby of his flat, and took the stairs to the thirteenth floor, nodding at the security guard at the desk. Thirteen flights of stairs later, he was muttering the enchantment spell to his flat, thus unlocking the door.

The building had been gifted a modern identity of architecture, with floor-to-ceiling windows that swept over the city skyline, quartz counter-tops, granilite columns, brass accents in the kitchen appliances and bathroom, and minimalist interior design. The space was moderated by a clean-cut palette of white walls, dark vinyl floors, and sharp upholstery unbarred by doorways, giving the illusion that everything was open.

With a flick of his wand, his groceries from the supermarket were organized into their respective shelves and cupboards, while the candle was kept on the coffee table. Scorpius Summoned a pewter cauldron from the kitchen, turned up the heat, and placed the candle inside. It was a trick his mother had taught him, back when he had been living with his parents in Malfoy Manor. Once the wax had melted, he waved his wand over the cauldron clockwise, and murmured the incantation that would disperse the aroma throughout the flat. Glad he had chosen a candle that emanated a woody fragrance, he stoked the flames beneath the cauldron and let the oakmoss simmer into the bedrooms and bathroom.

He was, by no means, a candle person. They exuded femininity, which was not his intention in his sudden cleanse.

An unexpected flicker of movement sent his attention to the corner of the room, where the sheer curtain had fluttered from the half-opened window - it would seem that even cedarwood could empower the nostrils when one's mind was endlessly occupied - and rippled over a box filled with miscellany. There were socks retrieved from under the king bed, tubes of lip gloss and mascara, books worn from constant use, and photographs that he had faced down.

They had been taken at a time when there hadn't been a void in his life, one that he now filled with firewhiskey and outings with his mates to the Leaky Cauldron. They would be stained with his fingerprints, from looking at them, analyzing them, and wondering why and where it went all went wrong.

The first one was from two months ago, when she had taken him to the fair, and dragged him off to the Ferris wheel. With a bat of her eyelashes, the man working the big wheel had agreed to take their picture. They stood with his hand snaked around her waist, her head leaning into his chest, beaming at the camera while a small, yet content smile had tugged at his mouth, gaze directed at her only.

 _Flash_.

That day seemed to catch up to him, and for a minute he could feel the roller-coaster whistling in his ears, hear her giddy laughter when he had nearly crawled off the damn thing, taste the buttery popcorn and cotton candy upon her lips when she kissed him, with the bursting fireworks muffled in the sparkling night sky.

His eyes seemed to glaze over at the memory, and thousands of them surfaced at pictures of her raising a glass of champagne at the New Year's party, his smirk in the mirror of the department store when they'd gone shopping for Christmas gifts, the blush coloring her cheeks when her favorite author approached her at the Ministry function in July…

Scorpius shut his eyes tightly, willing them to vanish, to creep back to the recesses of his mind. The whole point of his sudden trip to Diagon Alley had been to remove any trace of her, and part of that included a new, refreshing scent to diffuse the flat. All of her things had been cleared out into the box - things she had forgotten to take when he had woken up the next morning, and found her gone.

He knew, from the many late nights they had spent just talking about their childhoods, dreams, fears, and pet peeves, that she would be sharing a flat with her best friend, Alice Longbottom, who had been her best friend since practically birth.

He sighed, and made up his mind to take her things to Alice's tomorrow. Scorpius made his way to the kitchen, and made himself dinner with the vegetables and meat stocked in the refrigerator. Sitting at the counter, his eyes inspected his cleaned flat. He almost expected to see her cloaks and jackets thrown over the armchair she always sat in, or her black heels thrown haphazardly into the closet after work. Its absence made the room feel emptier, and for a few seconds, he almost didn't recognize the place as his own.

His eyes found the radio wedged into the wall, and he rubbed his eyes. Having come from a small family, he had been comfortable with the silence. But she couldn't stand it. So the radio was in a constant switch between the news from Ministry reporter offices, and the station that played the Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck. Nowadays, they heard more of electric guitar solos like "Devil's Snare" by Owl Post, or violin serenades like "Living Death" by Full Moon, but it didn't matter to her what song was playing, so long as it wasn't quiet.

Some nights they would simply sway to the Muggle music that came on. Classics like "Can't Take My Eyes Off You," or "The Way You Look Tonight." She would put her arms around his neck, and he would place his hands at her waist, the curves of her body pressed against his muscled body while they danced. Sometimes he would find her asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. He would lay her down next to him in bed, and push the hair away from her face, letting the rhythm of her breaths lull him to sleep.

Scorpius shook his head. It was too late. The candle had not helped.

* * *

A few days later, he found himself standing at the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. They had stood tall and proud for hundreds of years, yet Scorpius felt he could not summon the arrogant and entitled facade he usually wore when strolling through them.

Now, he felt almost defeated. He could not summon his characteristic smirk, nor amusement to his grey eyes.

Their house-elf, Emory, opened the door. "Ah, Master Scorpius is home! Shall I get the Mistress? And some coffee?"

Scorpius nodded, and followed her into the foyer and down a steep staircase into the kitchen. The rest of their house-elves - the Malfoys owned five in total - had either taken their day off, or were cleaning rooms in the upper levels of the house.

"Black coffee, isn't it?" Emory asked, and once again Scorpius nodded. The bitterness of it had always raised her eyebrow.

"How can you even drink that? It's like pure gasoline." Her expression would be torn between fascination at his ability to ingest the drink, and disgust at its flavor, to which she wrinkled her nose.

"I have nerves of steel," he replied, sipping from the mug while looking into her eyes. They were a lovely, cornflower blue, the iris ringed with flecks of brown. When he would kiss her, his teeth and tongue raking over the pulse in her neck, her eyelashes would flutter, and her eyes would open, the pupil dilating them to hazel from lust.

He shook the memory from his head, hearing a familiar voice echo as its owner approached from the stairwell. "... and you'll want to tell Adley that when she's done cleaning the guest bedrooms that she's free to take the day off, alright?"

"Yes, of course, Astoria miss," came the squeaky reply of their third house-elf, Cindy. They emerged from shadow, and at once, his mother had pulled him into a hug.

"Oh darling, you're back!" Scorpius found a smile - however reluctant - gracing his features as Astoria Malfoy straightened herself, and brushed the platinum blond hair from his face.

"Hello, Mum." Though in her forties, she bore grace and elegance in her navy blue Ministry robes, white chiffon blouse, black pencil skirt, and nude scarpin heels. Her luxurious chocolate brown hair cascaded down her back in soft curls, framing a face unscathed of age, emitting radiance and fervor. His mother had always been very beautiful, with her constant positivism and easygoing manner, sending him a smile so dazzling it was no wonder why his father had fallen in love with her.

"Why the surprise visit?" she asked, tidying up his hair with her wand. She arched an eyebrow. "Did you miss me?"

Scorpius felt his smirk returning. "Terribly. I had Rose audition for coddling to replace you."

She looked offended at that. "I'm your mother. It's only natural to want the best for my son. How is she, by the way? Rose?"

He turned back to his coffee and ignored the image that popped to mind, of her stricken face after he'd told her what he'd done.

"She's good. Sends her best to you and Dad."

Astoria smiled graciously. "That's nice. She works in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, right? I heard they work their employees like dogs now, after the Belgian Ministry passed that law last week."

Eager to change the subject to something other than his ex-girlfriend, he nodded. "The fare on international travel Portkeys? Their Minister must be running out of ideas to get himself out of debt."

"The fare's already been raised from about thirteen Sickles to two Galleons in some cities - at least that's the rough conversion. But I know you didn't come here to talk about money, you do that enough at work. How have you been?"

Another sip of coffee; it was growing cold.

"Well enough. I just thought I'd drop by and see if you needed any help around the house."

Astoria poured herself tea, much to the contention of Cindy and Emory, who preferred to have control in their territory of the kitchen.

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you actually volunteering to help?" She threw her hands in the air, but while most people managed to look frustrated, she managed to come off as mildly irritated. "If only you'd been this considerate when you were living here."

"Do you need help? Or want company?" He made to leave and her doe brown eyes narrowed.

"Not so fast, mister. I don't dole out free coffees; this isn't a hotel." She pursed her lips, propping her elbow on the marble counter-top. It was eerily similar to what Rose always did when she was deep in thought: slightly knit her brows, lean forward on her elbows, and rest her face in her hands, biting her lip. He'd found it all the more distracting when she would put her fingers on her lip and her glazed eyes would latch onto his -

"Are you even listening to me? You're quite useless for someone who wants to help," his mother said, interrupting the memory.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Haven't been getting good sleep these past few days."

Mild understatement; he'd woken up past twelve, and had hardly eaten a bite of the bagel he'd toasted. Upon waking up, Scorpius had felt the overpowering ache in his head that he recognized as an all-too familiar hangover, one that originated from the flask of firewhiskey he'd Summoned to his bedroom after the candle had dissipated to the wick.

"Do you want some chamomile? Didn't your father give you a vial of Sleeping Draught the last time you came for dinner?" Her eyes were wide with concern.

He'd told his parents - unintentionally - that his supervisors wanted to extend his hours to past dinner, finishing cost finalizations for the various Ministry functions. His mother was known to go into a fit over anything that jeopardized his health, and suggested the Draught if they kept him too long. Politely, he'd turned the offer down. Scorpius didn't need Sleeping Draught when he had Rose beside him, burying her head into the crook of his neck, pulling him closer beneath the duvet.

"They'll put me back on regular hours in a week," he lied.

Her eyes lingered on him for a second longer, then softened. "I just need to tend the garden," she said. "If you don't mind a little dirt, that is."

He glanced down at his clothes, which were oddly formal for a quick check-in with his mother. Old habits die with decorum, he supposed. "I can change. I'll meet you there, yeah?"

She smiled and shooed him away with a flourish of her manicured hand.

Scorpius could have Apparated to his room, but decided that the longer the walk, the more he could dwell on childhood memories - however unpleasant - in lieu of the memories he had made with Rose in the span of their three-year relationship.

Home, to him, had always been quiet. There were the gleaming marble floors, the polished mahogany of the long dinner table occupied by only three people, the flutter of wings outside the bay window when Menace, their owl, brought his Hogwarts letters or invitations of creamy stationery, hailing them to another party.

Climbing the staircase, Scorpius let his hand trail over the railing, inspecting his finger for dust. When a nearly invisible streak of grey surfaced, he smirked. His mother had always been a perfectionist. "There's a place for everything, and everything in its place," she had often said. He would have to call Adley about the stairs later.

Scorpius' room was on the second floor, spacious and drafty. In the center of his bedroom was a four-poster bed, decorated in a rather Slytherin scheme of green, silver, and white. He had always favored simplicity, and kept his walls bare, save for the occasional Falmouth Falcons and Wimbourne Wasps poster. On his desk lay parchment, and Augurey feather quills, imbued with non-smudging ink.

He turned back to his closet, in which hid his school trunk, with his school books organized by subject in corresponding compartments. His school robes were hung neatly, ironed to bear no creases or wrinkles. Pulling back his robes to search for some basics, a glint of something silver caught his eye. Arching an eyebrow, he rummaged through the rustling clothes to pull out his robes from seventh year, with his Head Boy badge still pinned to the front. Shutting out the thoughts of meeting Rose in the Prefects Compartment on September 1st, and discovering that she had made Head Girl, he shrugged on a black wool pullover and jeans.

Making his way back downstairs, he passed the hall where all the family portraits hung.

"As if you need more of an ego boost," she had said, sidling up to him when he had given her the grand tour. He had stopped in front of a photograph - unmoving, thank Merlin - taken just before seventh year. In it, he donned the school robes he had just seen, the green and silver Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest.

He had smirked. "Don't act like your parents didn't do the same," he said. Rose laughed, the sound filling the silence pleasantly.

"At least _I_ was smiling. Do you get a kick out of making that stupid, smirk-y face?"

He turned to look at her, making that stupid, smirk-y face, to which she slapped his shoulder playfully.

"I'm serious. I feel annoyed just looking at it." Now it was his turn to laugh.

One of his favorite pastimes at Hogwarts had been poking fun at Rose, just to see her hackles rise. It didn't matter necessarily what he said, but it was the way he said it that made her flush with anger, blue eyes narrowing in irritation. A riled-up Rose was his favorite Rose. She grumbled something about him being a cocky bastard, and followed him down another corridor to his room.

Scorpius shook himself out of the memory, and Apparated down to the garden. The weather gods of Wiltshire had graced them with light breezes, ruffling the hedges, while the summer sun beat down on the flowerbeds.

His mother, by the look of it, had also changed into something more comfortable, and wore a white cotton dress, her hair pulled back with a ribbon.

"What took you so long? Are you sure you're not hungry?"

Scorpius shook his head. It was a bit too hot to be wearing wool.

"Are you sure you're alright? You're not sick, or anything?" She pressed a cool hand to his forehead.

"I'm fine, Mum. There's no need to fuss all the time," he snapped irritably.

Narrowing her eyes at his tone, she replied, "I'm your mother. I'm always going to fuss over you."

When he did not reply, she gave him work to do, watering various plants and tending to flowers he'd never seen. It wasn't often he found himself in his mother's garden. Normally, he would leave her be and set off for the sprawling fields, broom propped over his shoulder to practice. He would spend hours there, and never once stepped foot into her garden, for fear that even being there would make the tulips wilt and the snapdragons wither. An angry Astoria Malfoy was not something he needed on his hands.

With a sigh, he watered what needed watering, tended what needed tending; anything to keep his mind off her. Until he came to the magnolia tree. It was the one place in his mother's garden that he dared to admire. It also happened to be Rose's favorite flower. He could recall past Valentine's Days where she had been gifted bouquets of roses, to which she had plastered on a forced smile, gritting out a "Thank you." He knew that she would give those roses to the girls who hadn't gotten anything for Valentine's Day, and dole out chocolates to the boys who had been rejected for a Hogsmeade date.

Scorpius stood there for a while, simply thinking, until he felt his mother brush his cheek lovingly.

"What's wrong, Scorpius? I've been calling you for the past five minutes, and all you've done is just wander around aimlessly…" she trailed off.

When he found his voice, it was hollow. "I broke up with Rose."

His mouth was too dry. His jumper was too warm. His mother was too close.

"What happened?" Her voice was low, filled with concern.

"I - we had a row. I said some things, and now…" He did not finish the lie.

He wished they'd had a row. But they hadn't. She had just looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning. He wished that she would have slapped him, and yelled at him. Merlin knew he deserved it. But all that came from her was, "I'll be gone by morning."

He wished his mother would slap him or yell at him, but she didn't either. "And there's nothing you can do to fix it?" she asked.

He shook his head wordlessly. Scorpius knew she was brimming with curiosity, but no more questions came. No "What did you even say in the first place?" No "Did you apologize?" No "Do you miss her?"

He knew she was thinking all these things and more, but she knew him enough not to press. Maybe she knew him well enough to answer the questions.

"I cheated on you."

"I did, but it didn't mean much."

"All the time."

* * *

The door to his flat opened, and wearily, he poked his head out from the bedroom. The box of Rose's things was still there, in the corner of the room. Taking it to Alice 'tomorrow' had turned into 'a week and five days.'

Scorpius averted his eyes from the box and found his best mate, Gabriel Zabini, looking at him expectantly.

"You'd better not be shagging in there," he said, inviting himself in.

"I'm wearing too many clothes to be shagging someone, you idiot," Scorpius replied crabbily.

Gabriel smirked. "That's just as well, because I'd gotten over the last time I saw you starkers -" He stopped, and cocked his head to the side. "Someone?" His eyes had reduced to slits.

Scorpius wore a mask of indifference. "Going deaf, grandfather?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gabriel was one of the few people who could read him like a book. This ability was unfortunately shared by his mother, father, and Rose. Speak of the devil.

"Work ended an hour ago," Gabriel said, still watching him closely. "Is Rose on the schedule for late hours?"

Scorpius schooled his features to a blank slate. "No."

"So if you two were shagging, you would have specified it was her."

"Maybe I was wanking off for fun," he deadpanned.

Gabriel scoffed. "You don't have fun. You brood."

Scorpius clenched his jaw. "Is this going anywhere? You interrupted me in the middle of my _wanking_ session."

Gabriel did not comment on this, and taxed him up and down. "Scorpius, did you fuck up?"

Tactfully, he remained silent.

Gabriel nodded. "Okay, so you fucked up. How bad? Did you row?"

Once again, Scorpius did not answer.

"So you either rowed, and it was really bad, or you didn't row, and…" The darker-skinned boy opened the closet, and found black dragon leather shoes, Twilfitt and Tatting's tailored robes, and empty hangers. His things. No slingback heels, combat boots, or beige trench coats. Rose's things.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"I guess it's a good thing I brought firewhiskey."

An hour later found them with nearly all the bottle gone, Gabriel hiccoughing and Scorpius staring blearily at the radio.

"Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I need to spike your drink with Veritaserum?"

"Fuck off." And yet, the story spilled from his mouth, the secrets unraveling the way they did when Gabriel was around. Their parents had known each other from their school days, but after the war, Blaise Zabini had found himself knocking at the door to Malfoy Manor, a few days after their trial, asking if Draco Malfoy wanted a drink. Scorpius' father, of course, had had his doubts. Blaise and he had been good friends before, back when his life had not been on edge, stilted on paranoia that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was going to beckon him to the drawing room with a new prisoner, and command another Cruciatus Curse out of him. Back when he could stroll the grounds with Pansy Parkinson on his arm, Crabbe and Goyle flanking his left and right when he walked down the hallways.

But he hadn't called because it was a trap to lure him back to the Death Eaters. He just wanted a drink. And in the same way, Gabriel didn't become Scorpius' friend because he wanted to take the mickey out of him, and ridicule him for the part his family had played in the war. He just wanted a game of Exploding Snap.

"I didn't get the promotion to junior undersecretary. It was like what happened to Mum all over again. They chose that dimwit, Bowman, over her for Captain of the Obliviator Squad, because of her name. They gave the position to that shit-eating excuse of a wizard, Loich Midgen. On top of that, they decided to postpone my pay until everyone's hours were finalized to accommodate the new schedule. It was just a crap day, but I didn't want to talk to anyone, not even Rose. I went to some random pub, told her I'd be home late, and got pissed off my face. Next thing I know, there was a girl."

"Why am I not surprised?" Gabriel asked, but the slur in his words made him sound all the more disappointed.

"I didn't put up much of a fight, 'cause I woke up and it wasn't Rose. I got the fuck out of there and went home, and she didn't suspect a thing. I told her, though."

All the color had drained from Rose's face. Scorpius took another swig of the glass.

"She didn't even yell at me. Just stood there. Next morning, she was gone."

Gabriel patted him on the back. "At least you owned up to it, mate."

"As if that makes a difference."

Gabriel turned to face him. "It does. A few years ago, if you'd done the same thing, you wouldn't be here drinking away your sorrows. You'd be moving on to the next bird, as far from sober as possible."

Scorpius finished his glass and instead took the bottle, lifting it to his mouth. Gabriel, though inebriated, managed to snatch the bottle out of his grip before he could down it.

"Come on. Let's get you some fresh air." Scorpius elbowed him in the gut, and maneuvered himself away from Gabriel's arm, dizzily walking down the hall to his bedroom. He didn't want sunshine. Rose reminded him of sunshine, of summer, of the days they had spent before he'd wandered into that tavern, and fell into bed with that girl.

* * *

He felt stilted, going into work the next few weeks. Mostly, he sat at his desk and finished calculations, filling out the appropriate paperwork and sending them to the Department Head's office.

At least, he tried to. He caught more than a few mistakes when Brimley sent them back, asking if he needed a day off. Scorpius shook his head, and made up some excuse about sleep.

"I don't pay you for slacking off, Malfoy. Whatever it is, get over it." Scorpius refrained from sending him the universal sign of peace.

He did not enter the canteen for lunch, because Rose would be there, gorging herself on the donuts with little to no regrets. He remembered how he used to kiss the frosting off her, sucking the sweetness of the chocolate and vanilla off her lips.

Instead, he went home, and fixed himself a sandwich, or whatever he could put together in the hour he had off. If there was nothing at home, he went to the market near his flat, and found something he could heat up and eat quickly.

He wandered through the isles, wondering if Muggles had ever seen a man in a suit before. Of course, it was probably unusual for them to see someone so young, so dressed up. He bit back a jeer as a woman passed him, frowning as she walked by. Now, he could shop in peace.

"Who died?" called a voice from the corner of the room. Scorpius turned and located the source. A gangling girl of about twelve was perched on the stool, peering at him through dark eyes. She had short, curly black hair, and a mischievous air about her.

"What?"

"Who died?" she asked louder, then cleared her throat. "I figured something really bad must've happened to you if you're stupid enough to keep your wand in plain sight. Imagine if a Muggle saw you with that!"

He looked at her with a leveled glance. "Maybe I've just got my mind on things," he replied coolly, eyes sweeping back to the salads. This conversation was beginning to sound like Gabriel's intervention from the previous week. Nevertheless, he tucked his wand into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"I think I know you," the girl said, still looking at him. "Like, I've seen you before and my brother would not stop talking about you."

"Who's your brother?" He asked. "Rohan Chadha. He used to complain about you when he came home, I should say. It was a long while back, obviously. He called you a lot of bad names for beating him in Quidditch. Is your name Malfoy?"

He nodded, smirking. Slytherin's final match against Ravenclaw had been very close; and yet Scorpius had managed to catch the Snitch. It was one of his proudest moments as Captain, winning Slytherin the Quidditch Cup for the third year in a row as Seeker.

"You look like a Malfoy. It's a very uppity sort of name."

"Uppity?"

"I mean, not that you look like very much - you're sort of a long streak of nothing. Like string cheese! Your hair's the exact same color! Look, I'll show you!" She hopped off the stool and darted around the desk, beckoning him to the isle of cheese and crisps. "That. You look just like it."

He bit back a laugh. "Fair enough. What's your name then?"

"Meera."

"Scorpius." She scrunched her nose.

"Scorpius Malfoy. You must be very uppity then."

He shook her hand, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have you started Hogwarts then?"

"I got my letter yesterday actually! I'm going to start my first year. You probably thought I was going to third year, right?" She gave him no time to reply. "I'm just really tall for my age. But I turned eleven on March 31st."

Close enough. Rose's birthday was March 21st, the first day of spring.

Stepping back, he realized why the girl didn't seem to bother him as much as children normally did. She reminded him of Rose, back when they'd been in their second year of Hogwarts. She'd been taller than a lot of the boys in their year; gangling, freckled, and long-legged. She'd also had to wear braces, because she'd had an overbite, so it was that phase in her life that made her feel terribly self-conscious of her body later.

Meera also had a bossy, yet mischievous sort of air about her, confident and outspoken that Rose retained, though channeled through her leadership.

"You said you'd seen me before?" He asked, gesturing to the salad he'd picked out. They walked back to the counter, and she scanned the price on it.

"Yeah, you came here a while back. But you were with another girl. Is she your girlfriend?"

He retrieved the wallet from his back pocket. "Who?"

She looked at him as though he were idiotic enough not to know who his girlfriend was. "The girl with the long red hair. She was paying, while you were looking at the fashion magazines."

She gestured to the stack of flashy tabloids, with their garish typeface. "You're supposed to be the one paying. But I think because you're so uppity, and aren't very good at looking like Muggles, she paid. My uncle was there that day, so he helped her. He's in the store room right now, taking a call so don't worry. I was bored because Rohan was off training with his new Quidditch team, so he let me sit around on the stool behind the counter. She smiled at me. She's very pretty."

Meera took the money from him, and gave him his change.

"Thanks," he said, and took his sandwich. Eager to change the subject, he asked, "What team does Rohan play for?"

"Appleby Arrows. I think they're pretty good. Did you know they thrashed the Ballycastle Bats?"

When he shook his head, she grinned. "310 - 60! Rohan plays Reserve Keeper, so he didn't get to play very much, but I think he did really well." Even though Rose found her younger brother Hugo annoying, she wore the smile that Meera flashed now, one of pride when she found out that Hugo had made Head Boy.

"Do you want to play Quidditch as well?"

"I'm alright at Quidditch. I can fly a broom, which is a pretty good start. But I'm excited to learn spells and potions, and just magic in general!" Her deep brown eyes had glazed over with excitement, the same way Rose's eyes would when she was reading something particularly interesting.

"You sound like a Ravenclaw."

She shrugged. "It doesn't sound bad, from what Rohan said. I don't really care what House I get in, just as long as it isn't-"

"Slytherin?" he guessed dryly.

"No. You won the Quidditch Cup, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"I was going to say that I don't mind where I get sorted, so long as it isn't affecting my learning."

Scorpius' smirk was full-blown. "You're going to be a Ravenclaw. Care to make a wager?"

Meera nodded, then frowned. "Oh, but I haven't got Galleons or Sickles yet. We're going to buy my things next week from Diagon Alley."

"Fine. If you get into Ravenclaw, you… have to tell Rohan that Reserve Keeper is the best he's going to get. Make him feel bad about himself."

"That's not very nice. But sometimes he's a git, so that shouldn't be too bad."

They shook hands, and Scorpius began to unwrap his sandwich.

"Will you come and say hello again when I come back for Christmas break? You can bring your girlfriend too."

Scorpius paused, then nodded. "Bye, Meera."

She waved, grinning widely to show off all her teeth.

Apparating back home, he finished the sandwich and changed back into his Ministry robes. Rose would have liked Meera.

Too bad he couldn't Floo call her back to him. She wouldn't come back, anyway.

* * *

On Friday evening, he decided to get rid of Rose's things for good. After waging an internal battle within himself, he'd decided to duplicate some of the photos clipped around the house, just to look at when the day was over and everything circled back to her.

Rose didn't write love letters - "They're soppy and give the completely false impression that I'm pining after you! Which I'm obviously not, and never will do!" - but she had the odd habit of signing off her notes with a scribbled heart, or writing things like, _"I'll be working late tonight, I've got a conference. Does dinner at 8 sound good? XO, Rose."_ She'd explained later that that was how she ended all her letters to her family, and that it'd become too much of a custom for her.

He'd kept a few scraps of parchment, stained with her messy handwriting, mostly because he wanted to try and remember what she was referring to in those letters. A dinner date? Ministry briefing? Headmistress McGonagall wanted to see them?

He'd also found a pair of sunglasses, which he knew she liked, because they had a vintage vibe to them. Playing the Memory Game once again, Scorpius recalled they'd been a souvenir from a day in London, where Rose had found a store which sold Muggle band T-shirts. She'd insisted he buy the aviators - while she took the Ray-Bans. They had a gold tint to them that transported her to the playful demeanor of a school girl on a road trip in one of those old films she used to play on their TV. Rose had said the aviators made him look like one of the bad boys who wore white T-shirts, denim jeans, and black leather jackets, smoking a cigarette on the side of the road.

"Bad boy?" He'd repeated, smirking widely while she rolled her eyes.

"Don't go getting any ideas. They usually end up with a switchblade in their necks for the crimes they commit."

Thinking about her always brought a sad lift to the corners of his mouth, like rewinding the good parts of a movie.

Oddly, he felt like he was looking in on someone else's life, not his own from about a month ago. Biting down the surge of memories that came with it, he sealed the box and Apparated to Alice's flat. The woman at the desk greeted him with disinterest.

"I have a package for Alice Longbottom. Could you give it to her when she gets home?" The woman eyed the box, and gestured for him to place it on the desk.

"Just a few security measures, nothing to worry about," she clarified, deflecting his previous inquiry. She waved her wand over the box, and mumbled a few spells he remembered learning in Charms. When the enchantment wore off, her expression was less guarded.

"Her roommate is upstairs. Rose Weasley? You can send it up to her. She's on the 8th floor, room 16." The woman then turned back to her dossier, copying names and dates with the sharp nib of her quill. Gritting his teeth, he took the stairs to the eighth floor, and found himself standing at the door to #16. He knocked.

* * *

"I'm coming, one second!" Rose called from within the flat, and he could hear her footsteps on the wood floor as she approached the door to unlock it. When she did, her tentative smile was replaced by a look he had been privy to before they had dated. Only now, her narrowed eyes and arms folded over her chest seemed more protective, rather than antagonistic.

"What do you want?" Her tone was hostile, as he should have expected.

"I have some of your things. That you forgot to take with you." _When you left me._

"Oh." Rose did not invite him in, but took the box anyway. She levitated it, and opened it to inspect her paraphernalia.

While she combed through the socks, photos, and makeup, he found himself taking in her familiarity.

She'd taken a shower, for work had ended early today. Her red hair was tied into a high ponytail, the damp strands curling at the straps of her tank top. Doing the math in his head, he concluded that she had probably come home about two hours ago, taken a shower immediately after, and kept it up to air-dry before she used a blow-dryer or Drying Spell on it. There was a slight frizz about it that he knew she disliked, but was too lazy to get off the couch or whatever it was she was doing - he heard the distant quarrel of voices from a radio in the flat, and the smell of something baking in the oven, so she'd probably been listening to a Quidditch match while waiting for the pizza to heat up - and couldn't be bothered to fix it. Her smooth legs were shown off in shorts and flip-flops, the same legs that had tangled with his in bed.

Scorpius had subconsciously stepped closer to her, and caught a whiff of her perfume, the sugared citrus of the orange blossom and the light drift of the jasmine.

He'd washed his sheets in the mad spree to remove her from his life, and wished that he hadn't, because her fragrance had evaporated off the pillow and blanket, now replaced with the scent from the candle.

* * *

He wondered if she was taking in his clothes too, remembering the days he'd worn this specific jacket, and the times she'd worn his sweaters because she was too lazy to find her own jumpers and hoodies.

He wondered if she could smell his cologne, and remembered the days she simply breathed him in, like fresh air.

He wondered if she still thought of him at work and accidentally found herself walking to the big fountain in the Atrium, where they would always meet up before heading to lunch together.

He wondered if she walked down Diagon Alley and had to stop herself from walking into Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, because they would always have ice cream and chat about the books they'd bought in Flourish and Blotts minutes earlier.

He wondered if she switched off the radio when they played David Bowie's "Heroes," because they used to sway to that, wondering if they could be heroes, just for one day.

He knew he couldn't get her out of his head, so was it bad for him to wish that she ached for him just as bad?

* * *

He snapped out of his thoughts when she fingered the photo of them at the fair. He pretended he hadn't heard her sniffle, and pretended that he didn't feel the need to wrap her in his arms, and brush the tears off her cheeks like he always did when she was sad.

"Thanks," she said, her voice thick. Scorpius knew she hated anyone to see her cry, so he decided that this was going to be good-bye.

"Rose, I -" Only then, he heard the sound of rushing flames in the fireplace, and the voice of someone he couldn't recognize.

"Er, Rose, love, are you home?" Her face was pulled between two emotions: sadness, and… embarrassment?

"Yeah, sorry Nate, I'm just talking to the… neighbors."

"Ah. Carry on, I don't mean to interrupt. But I just wanted to clarify, I'll be picking you up in an hour. Is that fine? I know you just got off work, but I wanted to make sure you had time to get ready, and all that."

She turned to face Nate's head in the fireplace. "Thank you, Nate. I appreciate it, and I'll see you soon." His head vanished from the embers, and she faced Scorpius again, only to find he was gone.

"Scorpius? Scorpius!" Rose called down the hall, not caring how loud she was.

But he had Apparated away to his flat, and poured himself a glass of firewhiskey. Scorpius held the bottle up to the light. He could almost hear her voice, reprimanding him for getting drunk more than once in a week. He downed the glass in one go.

 _I don't want to write a song about you._


End file.
